


The stranger on the rooftop

by AlexanderHannigram



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental overdose, Blood and Injury, Deductions, Dissociation, Donovan Is A Bitch, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John Makes Tea, John is a Mess, John is a Saint, John plays doctor, John sees a therapist, Moriarty was involved all along, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Brainwashing, Possible Character Death, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock Sings, Sherlock To The Rescue, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock is actually a lovely human being, Sherlock plays the violin a lot, Sherlock would be a great dad, Sherlock's "suicide", Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trigger words, everyone is a bit not good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:16:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderHannigram/pseuds/AlexanderHannigram
Summary: Everest is a young girl from an abusive foster family trying to escape from the hell that has become her reality. She seeks out an old hiding spot for the last time, hoping to escape from everything. Permanently.But what seemed like the end was just the beginning.





	1. The stranger on the rooftop

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to add AT LEAST one chapter a week so stay tuned.

London was awake. In the day you never really seem to notice the things that stand out so clearly against the black backdrop of night. Like how ,from a distance, all of the sirens and flashing lights and the gentle roar of traffic merge into one hideously spectacular thing. How ,from a distance, London as a whole seems to seethe and pulsate; it seems to breathe. The whole city quivers like a beating heart made of concrete and steel, busy motorways serving as arteries and winding backstreets as veins. It was awake and breathing and most certainly alive. Even at 1.28 am.

I observe this from a hotel roof as I have for the past five years, only daring to look upon the beast as a whole at night. I found the hotel years ago when I would crawl up onto the street from my tiny basement window, desperate to escape from the crushing noise and light. I had walked through mile after mile of back alleys and empty streets until the unrelenting torrent of people became a trickle and then a mere drip. Unkempt streets had led me to a monster of a building with peeling paint and crumbling brick but I had seen the fire escape as my yellow brick road to a perfect hiding spot. My thirteen year old legs had hung over the ‘H’ of ‘HOTEL’ as I happily perched on the far edge of the roof, my feet a size too small in the same pair of converse that I wear now. I stood on the roof that had served as my only escape for the past five years and observed the city as I always had. All of the childish hope that my thirteen year old self had felt about the future was snuffed out years ago and my gaze was now empty, void of the curiosity I used to feel toward London. Hope was funny thing ,I thought as I removed a stolen bottle of vodka from my coat and twisted open the cap. Forgotten dreams of leaving this God-forsaken place flooded every inch of my body as I pressed the cool glass to my lips and drank. I felt heavy and defeated as I sighed a cloud of steam into the bitter air. smirking, I discarded my coat on the floor and placing the bottle on top of it.

“happy birthday you fucking disappointment.”

I wasn’t nearly drunk but the adrenaline coursing through me made talking to no one seem like the right thing to do. It’s what people always did in films. More triumphant than scared, I messily untied my shoes and kicked them to one side, speaking in a voice that was broken and far from my own.

“I, Everest – whoeverthefuck, declare that this day, the 15th of November, shall be the last...for me at least.”

I laughed, clumsily raising middle finger above my head.

“fuck my parents, fuck Marie, fuck my shitty lawyer”

I was breathing quickly now

“FUCK YOU ALL!”

I threw everything I had into that last statement, tears streaming down my face as I kicked my shoes to one side.

I had no idea why I decided to take off the shoes.

The wind was so cold against my exposed arms as it rushed over the edge of the rickety building, taking with it the last whisper of fear that I had felt. I spread my arms wide as if to embrace someone in front of me and shuffled forward until my toes me the edge of the building. I gazed out at the city in front of me , at my city. It looked so beautifully awful as it murmured and sighed under a thick blanket of fog.  
Damn.

I inhaled sharply and readied myself, spreading my fingers out as far as I could. The icy wind whistled through them.

“Don't”

Shit.

“please...don’t”

The voice was low and authoritative yet dripping with a chilling air of calmness. I stayed where I was, arms still outstretched.

“what's it to you?”

He stayed silent for a moment before speaking again, his voice as calm and indifferent as before.

“ it does not ,In this moment, bother me that you choose to take your own life. I do ,however, know that in the future I would be better off if my conscience were spared from the burden of a young girls suicide. Don’t you think?”

His matter-of-fact tone had caught me off guard and I found myself lowering my arms slightly.

“just walk away...pretend I did as well”

“ in my line of work I'm sure that I would hear of your act no matter what”

I scoffed at him but lowered my arms fully this time.

“will you at least take a step back?”

“fuck off.”

He laughed and I heard the unzipping of a coat pocket.

“I will give you 200 English pounds of you step away from the edge.”

Now it was my turn to laugh.

“I have no use for money. Not now.”

He seemed to be taken aback but didn’t falter.

“I'll buy you a drink?”

I smirked, he was certainly determined.

“I have a bottle of vodka over there, so that’s a shitty offer that I don’t feel I’ll benefit from”

I heard the crunch of gravel under his feet as he stepped forward and the scrape of glass as he picked up the bottle to examine it.

“I'll buy you a drink that doesn’t taste like lighter fluid; one that you don’t have to steal from your parents.”

I turned around and scowled at him.

“How the fu-“

“the bottle is more than half empty and yet you are barely drunk. You look underage so you didn’t buy it and shops don't sell opened bottles of vodka so you didn’t steal it from there . That only leaves the parents.”

The smile on his face enraged me.

“They're not my parents”

I felt new tears sting my eyes and spill into my cheeks.

“And I'm 18...today actually”

My voice was as broken as it had been before but was just as determined.  
The light meant that I couldn’t see him as I would have liked to but I studied him all the same, like I had studied London just moments ago. The moon’s blue tinted haze glittered on the high points of his face and seemed to compliment his icy gaze almost too well. He stood about five feet away from me, bottle of vodka in hand ; his messy hair and coat the same eerie shade of black in the blue light. I felt my breath catch in my throat as he took a step closer and he seemed to detect the slight change in my stand-offish demeanour.

“it’s quite alright.”

The statement was hushed and clearly meant as a comfort but felt like a punch in the stomach and suddenly the air was knocked from my lungs. I turned around again.

“no”

I choked weakly as my heart knocked violently in my chest.

“no”

I whimpered again, focusing on the city as I had before. The stranger behind me exhaled and the sound of the bottle clinking against the ground again broke through my panicked haze.

“You’re barely old enough to buy a lottery ticket, let alone hurl yourself from a roof...happy birthday by the way.”

His voice had not yet lost its air of calmness and I smiled at his statement. I smiled a genuinely amused smile.

“I didn’t know that there was an age limit.”

I heard him chuckle and I joined in, not bothering to wipe away the tears that burned my face. The stranger stayed silent as I hiccupped in between giggles.  
The humour that I had managed to find in his statement gave me a sudden burst of energy and as I stared out at London with blurred vision I felt the same courage that had drained away come back once more. I stretched my tear stained cheeks into a genuine smile.

“well”

I sighed, to the stranger and to no one as I wiped my face

“ it really has been a pleasure speaking to you sir...but I’m afraid I have somewhere to be.”

And with that I raised my arms, squeezed my eyes shut and threw myself forward. Uncaring when the stranger behind me screamed “stop”, his voice full of genuine terror.


	2. Doctor Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may seem bitty or hard to follow but that's sort of what I was going for, sorry. 
> 
> Everest drifts in and out of consciousness after being knocked out. She learns the name of one stranger only to be introduced to another but he couldn't be more different from the man she met in the roof.

I hadn’t even started to fall properly when his hand caught the back of my shirt and my whole body lurched backwards, away from certain death.

My feet were torn from underneath me in the confusion and a scream caught in my throat, producing nothing more than a pathetic whimper. An audible ‘CRACK’ filled the air when my head made contact with the concrete of the rooftop, sending ripples through the still night. I tried to blink away the blackness that crept into the corners of my vision, ominous and spreading like a house fire. House fire.

The stranger hovered above me as I finally gave up, allowing myself to drift into unconsciousness. He was shouting, telling me to stay awake. No ordering. Ordering me to stay awake and his voice so thick with authority that I nearly complied. Nearly.

*****  
The first thing that I heard when I came round was the odd sound that fabric makes when dragged across concrete or brick. My arms were splayed uselessly beside ,limp and uncooperative, as i felt my body inch  across the roof toward the fire escape. The strangers arms were hooked underneath my shoulders. He was half-dragging, half-carrying me, concentration plastered across his features. His dark hair was fluttering magnificently in the wind and I took a moment to marvel at him through half closed eyelids before my vision darkened fully and I drifted into unconsciousness once more.

*****

A loud, rhythmic clicking pulled me from my haze and I woke to find that I had been slung over the man’s shoulders. His fingers clutched both my thighs and arms to his chest and he seemed to carry me with ease, keeping up a steady pace. His shoes were clicking against the pavement like the ticking of a clock , never slowing or stopping. The quick rise and fall of his chest suggested that carrying an 18 year old girl fireman-style was not as easy as the stranger made it look.

I hadn’t even realised that we'd stopped until the sound of his heels clicking against the pavement subsided and gave way to the sound of him breathing in short, sharp bursts.

“over here!”

He screamed at a taxi driver ,the sudden burst of noise making me flinch.

He loosened his grip on my arms and waved at the taxi driver instinctively, profanities spilling from his mouth when the upper half of my body fell from his shoulder. My arms hit the pavement first and crumpled painfully beneath my body and scraping along the ground . My legs hit the ground before I even realised that has lost his grip on them as well.

“shit”

He squatted beside me and gave my shoulder a light shove. I groaned.

“oh good, you’re awake.”

I opened my eyes as he began to scoop me into the taxi awkwardly. The dim light from the inside of the cab was enough to dazzle me and I promptly squeezed them shut again.

“hey”

The man gave me shoulder a shake.

“Don’t fall asleep”

He pulled me into a sitting position and secured the seatbelt across my chest. I groaned again.

“stop complaining”

I could feel myself drifting again and the sounds of the city quietened until they were barely there anymore. The various car horns and sirens melted into the general hum of London and it all became a dull buzz.  
I didn’t even hear the car door slam.

****

The noise faded back in gradually. No, not lots of noise, just one very distinct noise. It was still slightly foggy and sounded as though I was hearing it from beneath a metre of water but it was still there, a man’s voice.

“Jesus Christ Sherlock what did you do!”

It didn’t belong to the stranger, it was much too full of concern.

“she was trying to-“

“Rhetorical question!”

Sherlock, the stranger was Sherlock.

I could feel cold pavement beneath me and began to shiver violently, suddenly more aware of my surroundings. I was laid on the pavement about a foot from the road, under a red shop canopy.

“it’s okay”

I couldn’t figure out who that was aimed at.

Warm fingertips gently brushed the side of my face and I decided that it was aimed at me.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

The voice was so full of warmth in comparison to Sherlock’s. I eased my eye lids open slowly and stared up at the man above me. He was a shorter man with greying hair and kind eyes. He smiled briefly and gestured to the man beside him.

“I apologise for my friend's behaviour, he’s Sherlock and I’m doctor Watson.”

The doctor was dressed in what I could only presume where pyjamas and his eyes were heavy with sleep.

“ok”

He breathed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m going to sit you up so that we can get this coat around you, we’ll take this nice and slow.”

The man knelt down and wrapped my arm around his shoulder then began pulling me upward as gently as he could. I didn’t even feel myself drifting again until I fell backwards slightly and the doctor shook me gently.

“hey stay with me, stay- Sherlock get her legs!”

And then I was gone again. I fought the black this time ,embarrass by my inability to stay conscious, but In the end I felt my body just kind of...give up.

At some point I came round for long enough to hear someone ask if I was ok to which John replied with something along the lines of ‘it’s not as bad as it looks’. My eyes fluttered open for just a moment and I realised that we were going up stairs. Old , wooden stairs. Sherlock has his arms hooked under my knees and was struggling to manoeuvre his long limbs around them. His dark brow was furrowed into a thick line with effort.

*****

I fully regained consciousness a little while later. I was laid on the floor of what I presumed was a living room of sorts , my arms folded clumsily beneath me. The room was dimly lit and messy, so damn messy. Papers and books were strewn across every surface ,including parts of the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke, dust and chemicals. From where I had been positioned I could see the kitchen clearly; it was a small room made even smaller by the copious amounts of equipment ,possibly scientific, and what looked like half finished experiments. Well that explained the smell.

It took me a moment to realise that there were hands all over me, holding me in place, gently dabbing at the back of my head. I shifted ever so slightly and the hands on the back of my head stilled.

“Everest?”

It was Doctor Watson.

“mmm”

I didn’t question the fact that he knew my name. I hadn’t told him, but the events that had unfolded in the last few hours were coming back to me and the fact that the gentle eyed doctor knew my name didn't really seem to matter.

His hands resumed their position on my head.

“you’ve got a nasty cut to the back of the head, but I think I'll get away with gluing it. Saves a trip to the hospital.”

“ok”

My voice was barely a whisper but the doctor seemed to hear me and began rattling around behind me. The distinctive crinkle of a packet seemed to be the only noise filling the room for what felt like an age. 

The doctor cleared his throat in an 'I'm about to begin so don't move' kind of way and adjusted the position of my head. 

“This might sting a little”

I hissed as the glue made contact with my scalp.

“sorry”

The doctor whispered and pinched the sides of the cut together. The burning had subsided but kept my eyes squeezed closed nonetheless. Minutes passed and I grew more and more uncomfortable, The two strangers behind me barely made any noise and I felt my stomach begin to tense up. They were strangers after all. The doctor cleared his throat again, either as uncomfortable with the situation as I was or simply bored, and gently removed his hand from the wound. 

“ok, you’re all done”

I was rolled onto my back gently by who I could only presume was Sherlock. He was hovering over me, his cool gaze burning a hole into the wall in front of him.

“Interesting”

He muttered, his gaze shifting to me, studying me like a child with a magnifying glass would an ant.

“ 18 year old female, foster child, abused but recently so that rules out the biological parents-“

“Sherlock”

The doctor warned but the dark haired man didn’t falter.

“So that must leave the foster family, mostly psychological but sometimes went further, both physical and se-“

“Sherlock!”

The doctor was an inch away from thee other man now, his face pulled into a tight frown. Sherlock opened his mouth to continue but Watson held up a hand.

“Don't!”

The authority in his voice was enough to silence Sherlock, who simply rolled his eyes. The doctor sighed, satisfied that the other man would go no further and continued to pack away various medical supplies while Sherlock left the room ,presumably to sulk.  

“I’m sorry about that.”

He muttered, not quite meeting my gaze.

“he’s a cocky bastard.”

I nodded and closed my eyes.

The sound of a violin floated down the hallway and filled the living room, it was slow and quiet but undeniably beautiful. Was it Sherlock? The music seemed to juxtapose his abhorrent nature but I appreciated it all the same and fell into a restless sleep.


	3. House fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of words is all it takes to bring back the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter includes graphic description of people being burned alive.
> 
> Sorry about this chapter being a little short, I'll be posting the next chapter soon. :)

Fire. Not candlelight or the dim orange glow of a wood burner ; these were real flames and they were covering every inch of the living room. The air itself seemed to be on fire. 

And yet I wasn’t.

I was still laid on the floor. The carpet around me burned a brilliant mixture of orange and yellow but stopped about an inch from each of my limbs, leaving a chalk outline of untouched red and grey.

The two armchairs on my right side were ablaze as well but the people in them were unmoving like me. The only difference between me and the two men was that they were covered in flames; doctor Watson and Sherlock were covered in flames.

Their faces were charred and blistering, in some places whole chunks of skin were cracking and dissolving into the fire like ash. They were both dressed in what looked to be the same clothes they had been wearing earlier but the fabric had melted into thick strings that coated their blackened skin. Sherlock’s height seemed to be serving him well and the flames had not yet reached his head or neck. Flames lapped at the open collar of his crimson shirt but his face was void of any thought or emotion, as was Doctor Watson who had not fared as well against the fire as the taller man. The remnants of his khaki shirt were welded to his chest and the flames that clung to the fabric caressed his face every so often. 

I swallowed the urge to scream. I wanted to wade into the fire and pull the men out, douse them in water and calm the seething red that covered them. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t move. 

I shouted their names but my hoarse voice was smothered by the deafening roars and crackles that filled the room. I tried again and this time I broke through the noise and the smoke, barely but it was enough. 

For a moment the men were as still as they had been before but then they turned. The movement was so synchronised that ,had I been able to find my sense of humour, I would have accused them of rehearsing it. But there was no humour in the words that spilled out of their mouths, just pure, unadulterated hatred. 

“Your fault! This is YOUR fault!” 

Their charred lips were curled into snarls and their voices were as thick with rage as the flat was with smoke. 

The doctor rose from his chair and stepped forward, the crunching sound that his skin made as he moved made me shudder. 

“You!”

He raised an arm and pointed at me.

“YOU did this!” 

I shook my head, tears beginning to collect in the corners of my eyes. The doctor reached into the remnants of his trouser pocket and produced a small object. He threw it at me and it landed on my chest with a soft thud. 

“Your fault”

The doctor whispered, his voice unnervingly calm. 

I didn’t even have to look at the object, I knew what it was. It was a lighter, my mother's lighter. 

I shook my head again, this time in disbelief and the man above me grinned, parts of his lower lip cracked and flaked away as his mouth widened. 

“you will pay for what you have done” 

He was still calm, still quiet. 

“you will pay!” 

He repeated as he wrapped his hands around my throat and began to squeeze.

“Stop!” 

I wheezed.

“Doctor Watson stop! Please!” 

He didn’t. 

“stop please, stop it” 

I pleaded quietly, his fingers digging into my skin and restricting my airway fully. He lowered his head so that his face was level with mine. 

“Murderer!” 

He screamed, beads of saliva flying from his mouth. 

I let my eyes slide shut as he continues to squeeze, hoping that I would suffocate before the flames reached us but Watson began to shake me. 

“open your eyes!” 

I squeezed them shut, tears streaming down my face. 

“Everest open your eyes.” 

I could no longer feel his hand around my throat and his voice had softened to the same kind whisper that I had heard hours earlier. 

“Everest it’s ok, you're safe” 

I opened my eyes and gasped, feeling clean air flood my chest. 

“you had a nightmare”

He murmured. 

I was still gasping for breath but I could feel my heart slowing to a steady rhythm. I scanned the doctors face. 

“You’re ok?" 

I stammered, my voice came out in shaky bursts between breaths.

He furrowed his brow for a second, confused. 

“I’m fine, everyone’s ok”

“everyone’s ok”

I repeated. 

He patted me on the shoulder and pulled a blanket up to my neck. 

“You’re safe here Everest .”

The doctor whispered and stood up to leave. He was half way across the room when he turned around again. 

“you kept shouting something, when you were dreaming.”

I opened my eyes.

“ you kept shouting ‘house fire’.” 

The words made my chest tighten and I nodded, closing my eyes again. The doctor paused for a moment and then left, leaving me with those two words, those two fucking words. 

I covered my ears, trying to block out the flood of voices that came rushing into my thoughts. I tried so hard to keep them out, not to see their faces melting and crumbling as they spoke. All of them saying the same thing. Some were shouting, some crying but they were all saying the same thing:

“house fire.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Trigger words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains mention of rape, emotional and physical abuse.

The first thing that I was aware of was how cold I was, and how my wet clothes clung to my skin. The second thing was the voices ; familiar yet hard to place. 

“they're trigger words John” 

“so she had a bad experience with what a fire? And now-” 

“no, no this is something different, something more. People don’t react the way that she did as a result of a ‘bad experience’.” 

“what are you saying Sherlock?” 

“someone put her through intense trauma, possibly feeding off of existing trauma or fears, and developed a trigger word over time. If done effectively, depending on the subject's mental state, it could cause someone to completely dissociate after a long enough period of time.” 

“Sherlock I’ve seen dissociation, I have seen really bad dissociation and that was something else.” 

The voices echoed around the room, sharp and jarring as they broke through the silence. The doctor was perched on the end of the bathtub rubbing the sides of his face wearily and staring at nothing in particular. Sherlock was sat opposite him on the closed toilet lid ,hands forming a pyramid under his chin. Both men looked exhausted. 

We were in the bathroom.   
The last time that I was conscious I was in the living room. Now I was laid in a bathtub while the shower head above me spat out streams of cold water. 

“John”

Sherlock muttered, not moving his gaze from the wall. The doctor’s hands stilled and he looked expectantly at the other man. 

“she’s awake” 

The doctor rose swiftly from the end of the bath and turned the shower off. For a second no one spoke, no one looked at each other, the room was still. Sherlock stood up slowly and without saying a word, closing the door behind him. The doctor rubbed his ear slowly with his index finger , a small mannerism that I had picked up on, and sighed in a ‘what to do now?’ sort of way. He dropped his gaze so that it met mine.

“what was that?” 

I just shook my head, unable to speak.

He sighed again and rubbed his eyes, clearly tired and possibly irritated. 

“you’ve been out of it for about two hours now, I woke you up at four and it’s now half six.” 

I just nodded, shivering slightly under the weight of my drenched clothes, and for a little while longer the room was silent. Watson cleared his throat and moved forward.

“can you get up?”

I nodded and stood up as slowly as I could. The doctor hooked his arm under mine and helped me out of the bath sitting me down on the closed toilet lid where Sherlock had been perched earlier. I hadn’t seen him pick up the towel that he draped around my shoulders but it’s warmth was a welcome comfort and I didn’t comment. 

The doctor shifted his weight from one foot to another, contemplating what to say perhaps, and cleared his throat. 

“Sorry about the uh shower, we tried everything to get you to come round, nothing was working”

I smiled gratefully, glad that someone gave enough of a crap to help me, even if helping involved cold water. 

“there are some dry clothes on that chair, you can put yours on the radiator.” 

He gestured toward the corner of the room where a pile of clothes were neatly folded on top of a rickety old chair.

“we'll talk about this and about yesterday when you're done.” 

And with that the doctor was gone, closing the door behind him. 

The sound of my chocked sobs filled the room before I knew I was crying. I curled my arms across my body pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my head on them. The cold porcelain beneath me sent a chill across most of my body, and was only amplified by the wat clothes that I made no attempt to remove. I had always felt that I needed to allow myself to cry but this time I hadn’t, this time it just sort of happened. 

Time slipped away from me as I sat there, a puddle forming underneath me ; I didn’t care, I was too tired to care. 

****   
I emerged from the bathroom half an hour , maybe, later dressed in what I presumed were the doctor’s clothes ; a grey king’s college hoodie and black slacks that were much too big. The doctor had knocked on the bathroom door a few times during the past hour, asking if I was ok or needed anything, and each time I had reassured him that I was fine while choking back painful sobs. The doctor had ,presumably, seen me at my worst and yet I refused to let on that I was hurting. Strange. 

Voices drifted down the narrow hall but I didn’t care to focus on what they were saying and merely clung to an odd word every so often. I entered the small living room and was greeted by the two men ,slumped opposite each other in armchairs as they had been in my dream. The doctor gestured toward the sofa in front of them and I took it as an invitation to sit down, moving slowly across the room as if not to draw attention. It was stupid really. 

To my surprise, Sherlock was the first to speak and did not make any attempt to break the silence before he did so. 

“who did this to you?”

I had been expecting the question, but not as bluntly and not until much later on. I picked at the skin around my thumb as I spoke, my voice coming out in quivering ribbons of uncertainty. 

“He was a friend of my... carer’s ,Marie” 

Using the term ‘adoptive mother’ seemed wrong and no matter how hard I tried, my mouth refused to spit out the words. 

“At first he just came round every now and again ,sometimes bringing a film or a takeaway. But then he and Marie got closer and he um, he swapped the fish and chips for alcohol and then...and then drugs.” 

My voice had trailed off into a mere whisper, the thought of the brown-stained syringes that littered our living room carpet made my skin crawl. Sherlock nodded, urging me to continue. 

“it was mostly heroin but they sometimes smoked what I can only presume was weed. At first I genuinely didn’t care all that much, Marie had made it clear that she had no reason for adopting me other than the money and quite frankly I wasn’t at all fond of her. But then he stopped taking the drugs when she did and she was to high to stop him from doing whatever he pleased...” 

“And what was that?” 

Sherlock pressed after my voice broke and faded into nothing for a second time. I took a deep breath and continued. 

“He would just talk to begin with. He would talk about my parents and how they had died, over time I had come to believe that their death was my fault and he used that to manipulate me. He would say those ,you called them ‘trigger words’, before he started talking to me, talking about them. Even before it got violent I had developed the ‘zoning out’.” 

“the dissociation?” 

Watson asked, his brow furrowing even more. 

“if that’s what we're calling it ,yes. It went on like that for a good year before he started to get violent. It was just cigarette burns when he started, never more that one, but he would always say those words before he did it and it got to a point where I wouldn’t even feel the pain. That’s when he...when he knew that he could...” 

I combed my brain for the right word to use, not wanting to use some of the uglier ones that I could never quite choke out but Sherlock beat me to it. 

“take advantage of you.” 

I just nodded, swallowing the urge to shake my head and deny that it had happened, like I had so many times before.

Doctor Watson seemed to ponder this idea for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and wary. 

“How did you know?” 

“know what?”

“what he had done to you?” 

I stared past him, at the wall, as I spoke.

“the first time it happened I came round as he left my room. I was in pain and there...was blood and...And I was naked. I knew, I just knew.” 

The doctor had moved from one of the armchairs and sat next to me. 

“It must have happened at least fifteen times, each time he would say those words beforehand and I would...shut down for long enough for him to...”

I didn’t finish the sentence.   
Sherlock nodded slowly and rose from his chair, muttering as he walked across the room. I stared at my hands as he asked questions and made comments, not really hearing what he was saying.   
By the time he was finished, a shard of daylight had broken through the crack in the blinds and was casting an orange-yellow glow across his face. He stood for a second, staring at me intently before walking forward and crouching in front of me ,it was an action that I had not expected to see performed by the man and I recoiled slightly in my seat. He was quiet again for a few seconds and the doctor began to steal concerned glances at him. When Sherlock finally spoke his voice seemed uncharacteristically apologetic. 

“you won’t like this John.” 

He turned his head and stared at me with those icy blue eyes, his expression unchanging.

“and neither will you”   
He wrapped his slim fingers around my wrist and pulled it toward him, pressing gently on a spot just below my thumb. I tried to pull away but my arm barely moved inside his firm grip. 

“what are you doing?!”

“measuring your pulse” 

“why?!”

His eyes were locked with mine once more and he tightened his grip on my arm. 

“house fire.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the doctor began to shout. The world around me darkened and the voices ripped through my head, angry and seething as they worked their way into my thoughts. I tried to hold onto the feeling of Sherlock’s fingers against my wrist, desperate not to let the world go dark again. I screamed but could hear nothing over the sounds that tore through my head.   
I was dead to the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1.20.20.1.3.11

I was screaming when I woke up but the sound that tore through the room wasn’t the sound of a frightened young girl, it was the sound of concentrated rage spilling out of human lips. The sound was accompanied by others, a kind of terrifying chorus made up of shouts and gurgling. The gurgling ,as I soon found out, was in fact choking ; the sound of human life being squeezed from a body in the one of the worst ways possible. The sound made me cringe and yet my hands kept squeezing, draining the life from the man who's throat was trapped between my clammy palms.

I wanted to stop, I tried to stop but I couldn’t.

The familiar blue eyes in front of me were glazed over and pleading but that didn’t stop me, no matter how much I willed myself to let go.

It took a blow to the forearms from the doctor's elbow to loosen my grip on Sherlock’s neck. The smaller man twisted my arms behind my back ,subduing me, before I had the chance to launch myself at him again. Sherlock stumbled backwards, gasping, and I realized that my breathing was as ragged as his.

The doctor removed his belt and began to bind my hands together as I thrashed and squirmed, my chest heavy with panic. Sherlock held out a hand and wheezed ,still unable to speak. The doctor paused only momentarily before ignoring the other man completely and continuing. Sherlock was breathlessly muttering “stop” but ,again, the doctor ignored him and continued tightening the belt around my wrists.

“John”

Sherlock wheezed but was ignored for a third time.

“John”

“WHAT!”

The sudden outburst made me flinch and Sherlock clocked the movement instantly.

“She reacted John, she’s ok.”

The doctor inhaled sharply.

“She just tried to fucking kill you !”

“That wasn’t her John she-“

“then who was it?! Who else was here Sherlock?!”

“John that’s not-“

“WHO ELSE WAS HERE?!”

“No one.”

“no one.”

The doctor repeated.

“Doctor Watson”

I whispered and felt his grip tighten.  

“No! Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare!”

Sherlock was on his feet now and made his way across the room.

“John, you need to calm down.”

The doctor tightened his grip around my wrists again to the point that it was almost painful and I winced, sensing another outburst. But it didn’t come, instead he just loosened the belt and sighed. Sherlock ,visibly more relaxed, sat down again and seemed to ponder for a moment before speaking.

For a few minutes everyone was silent.

“Area you aware that you have a tattoo on the back of your left ear?”

I didn’t answer at first, convinced that he couldn’t be talking to me.

“Everest?”

“No I- what?”

The man placed his hands under his chin as he had earlier and continued.

“there are six numbers tattooed on the back of your ear each one ,I believe, corresponds to a letter. I-“

“Why didn’t I notice it?”

Sherlock sighed ,irritated.

“Do not interrupt me Everest it just makes this process longer and much more tedious, do I make myself clear?”

I nodded and he continued.

“I believe that the man who caused the dissociative episodes is also responsible for this.”

I opened my mouth to speak but the man shot me a cold stare ,presumably meant as a warning, and I quietened.

“I will presume that the tattoo is located on your ear due to the fact that one does not normally see that part of the body and this man knew that you would dismiss any pain felt there as yet another minor injury inflicted by him.”

He got up and began pacing around the room, hands still planted firmly underneath his chin.

“In case you were wondering, John located the tattoo when he was changing your dressing. He did so during the episode and read out the numbers so that I knew what they were, that’s when you attacked me.”

I stared at the man incredulously while he spoke, not able to fathom what he was telling me.

“I believe that the man who is responsible for this was using you as something more than his own personal ‘toy’-“

“Sherlock that's enough. “

The doctor's brow was knitted together with concern but I was determined to find out what had been done to me.

“it’s ok doctor Watson, I want to know.”

Sherlock looked at the doctor for permission and continued when he received a small nod.

“I believe that this man was involved in some kind of criminal activity and was using you to do his dirty work. Now what I am about to tell you may be something that you wish you had not heard, do you want me to continue?”

I nodded.

“I believe that you have killed people Everest, maybe only a handful but you have killed people.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath from the doctor ,who had sat down at some point and was now wringing his hands while the other man spoke. I ignored the shock and possible disgust that I felt radiating from the man and nodded again, urging Sherlock to carry on.

“ I would like to be able to tell you that you only killed bad people Everest, but I can’t. In truth this man ,whoever he was, knew that the dissociation would be a necessary kindness when you began to kill, because you most certainly killed good men, innocent men.”

“fuck”

My breathing was uneven and laboured.

“fuck!”

I shouted, bending over and grasping my knees with my hands

“Everest”

The doctor murmured trying to guide me gently to the sofa but was shaking violently and my breath was beginning to catch in my throat.

“Everest look at me it’s ok, you’re ok.”

“THIS IS THE FUCKING OPPOSITE OF OK!”

My sudden outburst caught everyone in the room by surprise ,myself included. I let myself lean against the doctor as he sat me down, suddenly embarrassed , and buried my face in my hands. The doctor had placed a hand on my shoulder and was telling me to breathe, trying his best to comfort my shaking form.

I managed to regain control after a couple of minutes and stared up at Sherlock, trying to no avail to keep my voice steady.

“How long was I out of it?”

He glanced at John again and ,again, only continued when he received a small nod.

“about three hours.”

I had tried not to show any chance in my demeanour but a gasp escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

“three hours?”

“yes.”

“holy shit”

The room was silent except from the ticking of a clock which ,to my dismay, read 9.48am.

The doctor squeezed my shoulder gently.

“we can sort this out Everest, we'll find him if you want us to.”

I glanced at Sherlock and he nodded slightly.

“I can’t pay you.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth and he took a step forward.

“I believe that some of your abilities may be of great use to us, and that’s payment enough.”

Me and the doctor stared at him, not quite sure of what he meant.

“abilities? You're not seriously going to-”

The man held up a hand to silence the doctor and sighed.

“it must me so nice to have your simple little brains, never questioning the abnormal.”

He turned to face me.

“But yours isn’t as simple as it seems is it? Yours is different”

“How so?”

I asked as obliviously as my voice would allow, thinking it impossible that he knew what he seemed to know.

“eidetic memory”

I sighed ,not quite believing that the words had come out of his mouth.

“How did you know?”

“only someone with the kind of memory that you have could have been manipulated to this extent, this quickly.”

"well fuck”

I breathed.

Sherlock paced the room for while longer and then came to a stop.

“You can stay with us while we work on your case.”

I opened my mouth to object but the doctor interrupted this time.

“It's fine Everest, you don’t have anywhere else to go.”

I was quiet again while those last few words rung through my head. The doctor was right, and it saddened me to think about what that statement meant. I didn’t have anywhere to go, I was unwanted by everyone except from a couple of strangers.

A few more minutes passed and the doctor went to make tea, announcing it to no one in particular as he left the room.

Sherlock was sat in his armchair again, His hands in the same position under his chin. I contemplated asking the one question that was racing through my mind, scared of the consequences should the man choose to answer.

“what’s the matter?”

He demanded, sensing my discomfort. I chewed the inside of my mouth until I drew blood, still debating weather or not to ask. Sherlock raised one dark eyebrow.

“well?”

I took a deep breath.

“what does the tattoo say?”

“it’s a list of num-“

“that’s not what I asked”

The man furrowed his brow slightly.

“You said that each number represents a letter.”

He removed his hands from underneath his chin and rested them on the arms of the chair.

“Why do you want to know”

I scoffed.

“because there is a tattoo on my body that I had no idea about until today and I would like to at least know what it says!”

The man nodded.

“attack.”

“what?”

In the midst of the outburst I had forgotten about the question.

“the tattoo spells ‘attack’.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Safe at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much happens but Everest may be a little smarter than she seems.

‘Attack’.

I was nothing more than a tool, a killing machine.

My hands shook as I sipped my tea and every so often the sound of the mug grazing my teeth could be heard over the small talk that John was trying so hard to maintain. I answered politely, talking as little as possible and never quite meeting his gaze. I wouldn’t let on that I was hurting as much as I was, hurting made me weak, being weak had got me into this mess.

I looked up from my lap at one point and saw that Sherlock was staring, studying me. The thought of his eyes scanning my body made me shift uncomfortably in my seat and I swore I could feel the chill of his icy stare as it made its way across my skin. He narrowed his eyes and brought his hands to his lips, tapping his index fingers together ever so slightly as he leaned back in his chair and continued to stare at me. My skin began to burn and I tried fill my head with anything other than the thought of the man in front of me. I focused on John's voice ,friendly and warm, as he continued to talk about trivial things, just to fill the room with something other than silence.

It didn’t work.

John's voice dimmed and all I could hear was the blood rushing inside my ears. I placed the mug on the coffee table in front of me so that I could hide my shaking hands in my lap. Sherlock continued to stare and John continued to talk. I felt my mind begin to switch off and scolded myself for being so careless, angry that I couldn’t even have a conversation without drifting.

I didn't realise how out of it I was until I felt the doctor's hand brush against my arm. I looked up from my lap once more to find that both men were staring at me. Sherlock’s expression was so different to the doctor's that I almost laughed. John's brow was knitted together with concern, Sherlock’s brow was also furrowed but his expression radiated intrigue instead. I questioned how it was possible for two people to look simultaneously identical and completely different but in that moment I didn’t care.

John's hand tightened and he shook my arm gently.

“Are you still with us Everest?”

I nodded and he moved his arm. I missed the feeling of his gentle fingers, pulling me back into the room, but couldn’t bring myself to ask him to continue.

Sherlock was no longer staring at me except for the occasional glance and the doctor began to talk again about the weather, about the fact that they were running out of milk, about anything at all. Relieved, I sighed and rested my chin on my hand while John's voice floated around the room. I was finally content for the first time in years.

About an hour and a few cups of tea later the doctor left to go to the shops, leaving me with Sherlock. For a good half hour we were silent and ,again, no other sound except the ticking of a clock filled the room. Finally, Sherlock broke the silence.

“eidetic memory.”

He seemed to be thinking out loud and stretched out both words, emphasising the ‘c’ at the end of ‘eidetic’. My sudden and unexpected burst of contentment had given way to and equally unexpected burst of courage.

“sociopath”

I spat. I hadn’t even considered the fact that I could be wrong and started to panic when he raised an eyebrow. But when I saw the corners of his mouth twitch I knew that I was right.

“You’re angry.”

“I’m also correct, am I not?”

He pursed his lips and sat up again, resting his arms on the sides of the chair.

“Why didn’t you go for psychopath? People tend to have that at the top of their list”

I paused for a second.

“Are you actually unsure or do you just want to hear me say it?”

I'd tried not to sound angry but failed miserably.

“I want to know if you are as clever as you seem.”

I paused again ,not overly sure of how I felt about this statement, I had no idea if I was flattered or not.

“You clearly feel things, even remorse, but you’re also self centred and don’t seem to care to much about the repercussions that your actions will have on other people.”

He chuckled again.

“That’s what you’re going off of?”

“Well it’s either sociopath or arse hole and you seem to fit ‘sociopath’ much better. Am I wrong?”

He got up and walked to the window and pulled the curtain to one side ,gazing out at the busy street below.

“high functioning sociopath.”

“close enough.”

He chuckled again and I felt a smile creep across my face. The sound was something that ,coming from Sherlock, seemed so alien and yet I thoroughly enjoyed listening to it.

****

I’d insisted that I sleep on the sofa but John refused.

“you’ve had an awful couple of days Everest, I’m happy to stay on the sofa for a while.”

I opened my mouth to retort but he held up a hand.

“please.”

His expression was so genuine and kind that I was caught off guard and found myself nodding. He smiled and I made a mental notes of the way his eyes crinkled when he did so. Little mannerisms.

Sherlock was at the window again, pouring his energy into the violin that I had heard last night. The music that flowed around the room made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, it was beautiful. I let myself go a little ,not fully just a little, and suddenly my limbs felt lighter. My whole body felt lighter.  
I was just drifting to sleep when John came back downstairs.

“Right that’s all sorted, shall I show you what’s what?”

I nodded and quietly followed him out of the room. I could still hear the violin over the high pitched squeaks and groans that the stairs made as we climbed.

The doctor's room was exactly as I had anticipated it: clean, crisp bedsheets that were neatly made ; light and airy. The room smelled clean in comparison to the rest of the house and I savoured the scent of freshly washed linen as I inhaled deeply. There was another smell, the doctor's aftershave I think.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another and motioned to various parts of the room ,apologising for the “mess”.

“Thank you Doctor Watson, it’s fine.”

He smiled and ,again, tiny creases stretched from the corners of his eyes across his face.

“John”

“hm?”

“call me John.”

I nodded slowly.

“Thank you John.”

He patted me on the back and turned to leave. He was nearly at the door when he stopped.

“Do you have any belongings that we could collect? Clothes, personal items?”

I shook my head and dropped my gaze so that it was on the floor instead of the doctor.

“I never had much really ,nothing of great value, in my eyes there’s not much point in going back to get any of it.”

He furrowed his brow for a second before nodding.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all-“

“you’ve already done so much. And besides, I can’t pay you.”

“No, you’re right. But you're useful and we need useful.”

I tried so hard not to replay that last sentence, not to let it mean anything to me. But it did. “You’re useful”. The only time that I had ever been useful before was when I was oblivious to everything.

I let the tears come, I let them roll down my cheeks and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. The doctor moved toward me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey”

He breathed.

“it’s fine, you’re ok. What’s wrong?”

I smiled at the kind face in front of me.

“I’ve never been useful before.”

The end of my sentence disintegrated into incoherent sobs. The doctors face softened even more and he wrapped his arms around me.

“it’s ok”

He kept repeating as he patted my back gently and I continued to sob into his t-shirt.

“sorry”

I choked and felt his hands still. He pushed me away slightly so that our eyes met and placed a hand on each of my shoulders.

“don’t ever be sorry”

He whispered.

I felt the tears creep back again but refused to let them take over this time and simply nodded.

The doctor gave my shoulder a final squeeze before leaving and I locked the door behind him, desperate to be separated from everything that had just happened.

I was half way through undressing when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I hadn't even seen it there to begin with, and I wished that it hadn’t been there at all. I stared at the reflection and it stared back at me, body still bruised and weak from months of who knows what. I walked toward the mirror slowly and it did the same, stopping when I stopped, breathing when I breathed.  
I had heard a theory somewhere that our

reflections are ourselves in parallel universes and that the reason we can’t walk through mirrors is because it’s too terrible for us to comprehend on the other side, and that our reflections are keeping us safe by blocking the path. I smiled. For the first time in what felt like forever, I seemed to be on the better side of the mirror.

I slipped into the doctors bed and let my heavy eyelids close , comforted by the thought that I was safe. For the second night in a row I fell asleep to the sound of a violin floating up the stairs from the floor below. I was finally safe.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Eddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to a new face, and an old one.
> 
> Sorry for not posting , I've been kinda ill lately. New chapter should be up sometime this week.

I had dreamed about him ,Eddie, that night in haunting detail. Everything from his brown, leather jacket to the smell of his aftershave. He had been wearing jeans and a white t-shirt that had turned grey in certain spots, his black hair bundled into as small ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was so vivid and familiar that I could barely believe I had only dreamed of him. His breath had tickled my cheek ,coffee scented and warm, as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His thin fingers moved gracefully and ,had he not been the man that tortured me, I might have brought them to my lips and gently kissed his knuckles. But those knuckles were the very same ones that left angry marks on my skin and left my nose dripping crimson.

In the dream he was wearing a gold ring, one that I was unsure he had ever actually worn , but it was beautiful nonetheless. The band consisted of one long gold ribbon that twisted intricately around his finger, taking the shape of a coiled serpent. Scales were engraved across its body and two black stones served as eyes. It struck me that the ring resembled the man that owned it in more than one way. He too was a serpent, coiled and ready to attack, staring at me through glassy, black eyes. He may as well have been made of gold, Marie had worshipped him like he was. I recalled how cold the metal felt when he brushed his hand across my face, and the mark that it had left when he pulled his hand back down again to slap me. Pain radiated across my skin, stemming from a small area where the jagged edge of an opal had tore into my cheek. Blood had beaded at the surface of the wound almost instantaneously and an image of the crimson-smeared gold stuck in my mind.

I sat up in bed and traced the small scar on my cheekbone with shaking fingers, feeling my blood run cold when a thought struck me. I hadn’t been dreaming, I had been remembering.

The blanket that lay on my shoulders suddenly felt heavy and tight. I shrugged it away and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. The light had just began to peek through a slit in the curtains, casting a wonderful gold glow over every surface of the room. I smiled because despite the fear and anxiety that came with the thought of remembering, at least I would know what had been done to me ; for the first time in a very long time I was regaining control. I say there for a moment and tried to ignore the uneasy feeling that crept over me, but I couldn’t seem to get rid of that one image ; my blood smeared across the pristine gold of his ring, of Eddie's ring. Only it wasn’t pristine. I closed my eyes and visualised it once more. There was an engraving that spanned across a few of the serpent’s scales, six numbers, and suddenly Sherlock’s words rung through my head.

“a list of numbers”

It was clear that each number represented a letter in The alphabet, that meant that my tattoo read 1.20.20.1.3.11. So I presumed that this sequence was the same. I closed my eyes again and visualised the numbers, pairing them with their corresponding letters. An audible gasp filled the room when I was finished.

4.5.19.20.18.15.25

“destroy”

I couldn’t bring myself to think about what it meant.

Instead, I climbed from the doctor's bed and dressed in the clothes that I had discarded on the floor last night. There was no clock in the room, but the silence that hung in the air when I opened the door led me to think that it was early.

I stood on the landing for a second, the cold wood beneath my feet sending a chill through my body. It was still silent. I eased my way down the stairs, trying desperately not to make too much noise but the wooden steps let out a screech every time my foot landed on them and I couldn’t help but cringe silently. I found the door to the living room unlocked and slipped quietly inside. Much to my surprise, no one was there. No sleeping John on the sofa or frustrated Sherlock glaring at the wall from his armchair. Just me. I had started to ponder the idea that the two men had shared a bed when a sheet of paper caught my eye.

On a case, be back soon. Help yourself to breakfast.  
-John

I chuckled, amused by the thought of the two men asleep together.

The lonesome clock told me that I was right in thinking it was early, 7.24 to be exact.  
I wandered rather aimlessly into the kitchen, trailing my fingertips along the wall as I went. I memorized the rough texture of the wallpaper, and the way that the paint flaked slightly under my fingers. I also memorised the smells. Chemicals, lemon scented disinfectant, leather and cigarette smoke. I would have loved to kid myself, loved to grimace at the strong odours, but a part of me liked it. It was grounding.

The kitchen was bigger that it looked, even with the clutter that was strewn across the table and the shelves and the counters. I carefully picked up a petri dish and studied whatever was growing inside it, a tiny forest made of blue and green splotches. I set the dish back on the table and leant against the kitchen counter. I sighed, what the fuck was I doing here? I was just about to root through the sea of glass beakers and bottles when I heard the door scrape open. From where I was standing the door was not visible and ,without thinking, I wrapped my hand round the neck of an empty bottle. I stared into the living room, my chest tightening as the sound of footsteps grew near. I had already pulled the bottle from its place on the counter and pointed it in the general direction of the noise when an elderly woman ,carrying what looked to be a tray of tea, came into view. I exhaled slowly and returned the bottle to its place.

The clink of the glass as it came into contact with the counter caught the woman's attention and she turned around,

momentarily shocked by my presence. But her expression softened quickly and she set the tray on the living room table. My hand seemed to move on it's own when she took a step toward me, and suddenly the bottle was back in my hand. She stilled and in the moment that out eyes met I knew that she had silently understood whatever there was to understand about my frightened demeanour. Instead of continuing forward, she turned around and began pouring tea into one of the saucers from the tray.

“Would you like a cup of tea dear?”

I let go of the bottle and forced myself to walk in the general direction of the living room, nodding slowly when she turned to look at me.

When John and Sherlock returned a half hour later we were sat opposite each other, chatting aimlessly about a variety of silly things. She was the landlady, a lovely woman of about sixty with an infectious laugh who seemed to dote on Sherlock and Doctor Watson. I liked her.

***

Once Mrs Hudson had been shooed away and John had left to shower Sherlock slumped in the armchair opposite me and exhaled, steepling his hands and placing them under his chin.

“rough night?”

He snorted and slapped the arms of the chair before standing quickly. I flinched ever so slightly at the speed of the movement and he raised an eyebrow.

“still jumpy are we?”

I felt my cheeks burn scarlet and picked at the skin around my thumb nail, not wanting to meet the cool gaze that was burning a hole in the side of my head. A cool breeze tickled my neck as he made his way across the room to the open window. After a moment he threw open the curtains all the way and sighed, bringing a curled hand to his lips.

“come here”

All I could do was stare blankly .

“what?”

“come here, I want to try something.”

This time I did as he asked and joined him at the window. He didn’t look at me, instead he pointed at a man on the pavement below.

“what do you think?”

“I don’t know what you’re asking me Sh-“

“divorced – no married, unhappily, here to meet with the other woman. Came here on the train, possibly last night. Tell me what I saw.”

I scoffed and gazed at him in disbelief.

“you know that I can’t, I don’t think like you do.”

“That is exactly the point.”

His mind seemed to be elsewhere while he spoke, his eyes distant. I stared at the man on the pavement.

He was in his mid-thirties; dressed in a three piece, charcoal suit that was decorated with a glossy, black tie; his hair was almost jet black but something about it didn’t seem natural, but the most striking detail was the white band that snaked its way around his left ring finger.

I inhaled, bracing myself for his reaction after I spoke.

“He’s only just taken that ring off, hence the mark and the new suit suggests that he's trying to impress, as does the dyed hair.”

“and...”

“and, and that’s all I’ve got”

He chuckled.

“but you haven’t even got to the good bits”

I sighed, feigning anger.

“Go on then, I know you're dying to show off.”

He raised a brow again.

“you were right about both of those things but why the train? Well, his suit is from a retailer that cannot be found in London so it’s clear that he doesn’t reside here. The signature ‘seatbelt creases’ are not there so that leaves the train.”

I nodded.

“Did you feel the need to impress me?”

He snorted and stared at me for a second.

“I was merely tying to introduce you to a new skill”

“I-no! I can’t do that Sherlock, you know I can’t.”

He grinned.

“All in good time.”

I opened my mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sound of the doctor clearing his throat. I turned to see him standing in his dressing gown, hair still wet, with a middle-aged woman at his side.

“We have a case”

Sherlock visibly perked up and almost flew across the room into his chair. I stood by the window awkwardly until I was invited to sit next to the woman by John.

The case didn’t strike me as familiar at first, but then the blood stained gold kept seeping into every one of my thoughts and I knew that something bigger was going on. Something much bigger.

The woman's daughter ,Hannah, had been taken from her mother’s bakery yesterday afternoon by a man in a brown leather jacket. And that’s when it hit me. That jacket, that fucking jacket ; the one that he would hang on the back of my bedroom door or drape over the end of the sofa. It was him. It was Eddie.

Hannah was in her early twenties, tall and slender like her mother. She was also autistic ,high functioning, and had an astounding memory. It all led to Eddie. I had fought hard not to let my indifference falter, not to let my expression change when everything fell into place so suddenly, but Sherlock clocked me almost instantly. He was an impossible man.

“You know something”

I held my breath, my expression as incredulous as I could make it.

“no”

He shook his head slowly and I watched his black curls bounce from side to side.

“tell me what you know.”

And I did. Perhaps it was the sudden calmness that filled his voice or the way that his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but I did.

“Eddie”

“Eddie?”

The doctor asked, his chin planted firmly in the Palm of his hand.

“The same man that um...”

I let my voice face into nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to recount what he had done to me in front of Hannah's mother. Instead of pushing the question the doctor nodded, understanding, and turned to the woman next to me.

“we'll find her”

A thought hit me so suddenly that I felt myself visibly recoil. We'd definitely find her, he took her to make a point, but I highly doubted she’d still be breathing. I gazed up at Sherlock and knew in an instant that he had just had the same thought.

Hannah was just a way for Eddie to hurt me, and holy shit was it working.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Hitman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It didn't matter how many people called the man in from of me a psychopath or unfeeling, his expression told me otherwise."
> 
> ***
> 
> Set somewhere around the first season
> 
> I haven't uploaded for what feels like months sorry :( I'm currently pretty ill and have been in a bit of a slump as a result. I'll try to have a new chapter up as soon as possible but can't promise anything. Stay tuned.

John had begged Sherlock to go to the police, and the detective had refused. I watched the men argue, listened to the insults that they threw at each other and grew tired of their bickering. My thoughts turned to Hannah instead.

Hannah. Twenty two years of age, high functioning autism, blonde shoulder length hair, jeans and a pink sweatshirt. The image that I had managed to form of her all but disintegrated when the sound of the front door slamming broke my concentration. It seemed that the doctor had left and Sherlock’s gaze was now directed at me.

“what did I say?”

I shrugged and he huffed.

“useless”

“I know”

In my head those words had been backhanded and mocking but my hushed voice reeked of self-pity and the eye roll that I received from the detective made me want to disappear. I slumped a little, willing my embarrassment to go undetected.

He made his way to the window once again and brushed the curtain to one side, silently picking apart the lives of pedestrians. He chuckled ,a sound that seemed so foreign when it came from him, and tilted his head toward the window. I rose from my seat and joined him.

“those three”

He pointed to a small cluster of office workers on the pavement.

“what can you tell me?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we'd had this conversation Mr...”

“Holmes”

It hadn’t struck me that I didn’t know his surname, it hadn’t mattered, until it did. The man that had saved me was the man that I had fought so hard to find, a name that was uttered on the street and seemed to catch in the wind. A name that ,to me, meant salvation.

In the seconds that it had taken me to realise this, Sherlock had read me like an open book.

“why didn’t you notice before?”

My voice was stuck in my throat and I raised an eyebrow instead of speaking.

“ Sherlock is hardly a common name and we said that we'd take your case, surely...”

I knew in that moment that he had realised what I thought he was, that I had never known his name or his face, just the things that people had told me.

“people embellish stories Everest, and I am far from what you were seeking out.”

He sounded truly sorry and I felt my stomach clench with guilt.

“I wanted him dead”

My voice shook and cracked.

“I saved as much money as I could and I tried to find you.”

“ But it wasn’t me that you were looking for.”  
I shook my head.

“Everest look at me.”

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, tears beginning to cloud my vision.

“Everest”

His voice was much softer this time, so different from the stranger he used to be that ,for a moment , it struck me that he may have been a completely different person. I felt his hand hover over my shoulder for a second before he allowed it to rest there, the action so alien that I further questioned who the man in front of me actually was.

“please just look at me.”

And I did, wondering how it was possible to trap the ocean itself in a person’s gaze, wanting to throw myself into his arms. But I didn’t.

“You were right to want him dead.”

“was I?”

“what he did to you, what he's doing to...”

And just like that those blue eyes seemed catch fire.

“ There is nothing I despise more than a rapist.”

I sat in stunned silence. I wanted to pry, to ask why he cared so much, but that seemed wrong. He seemed to stop and think for a second and if one was to look closely it could be argued that the creases in his brow radiated a sort of sorrowful remembrance. It didn't matter how many people called the man in from of me a psychopath or unfeeling, his expression told me otherwise.

“what did you think I was Everest.”

I lowered my gaze again.

“you know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Sherlock please-“

“say it”

His words were sharp, perhaps sharper than he meant, but he didn’t seem to regret them. I stared at the floor again not wanting him to see the fear, the shame that was plastered across my face.

“hitman”

I breathed, my voice strained.

“a fucking hitman.”

He chuckled.

“I could be you know”

“Oh I doubt that Mr Holmes.”

And suddenly we were both laughing. It had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that when our eyes met, even the detective seemed as taken aback as I was.

When our giggles had faded into nothing more that the odd sigh I allowed myself to meet his gaze once more. I debated what I was about to say, rigorously combing through the possible outcomes.

Fuck it.

“I started remembering things, last night, I um... another code Sherlock.”

He nodded, pursing his lips.

“what did it say?”

“4.5.19.20-“

“That’s not what I meant Everest, I think you know that.”

Shit

“what did it say?”

“destroy”

He straightened slightly but his expression remained the same.

“where was it ,the code, when you remembered it?”

I felt fingertips trace the scar on my cheekbone absent-mindedly and it took a moment for me to realise that they were mine. Sherlock eyed me curiously and I lowered my hand slowly, burying it between my thigh and the sofa.

“Eddie had it engraved into a ring; gold, shaped like a snake.”

The detective’s expression darkened ,only slightly, but it was enough. Enough to turn my blood to ice water.

“Do not repeat what you have just shared with me, for your own safety.”

“what does it mean”

“I believe it would be best if the information remained-“

“I deserve to know Sherlock”

He exhaled slowly, calmly.

“A backup plan, a-“

I knew exactly what he meant.  
The walls seemed to warp and sag around me as I staggered out of the room and down the hallway. My movements were clumsy and before I knew it my knees gave out, landing me face first on the bathroom tiles. I wretched, unable to do anything except tilt my head to one side. At some point I had been dragged to the toilet and a hand had forced my head down while simultaneously pulling the hair from in front of my face. For a moment the movements seemed much too gentle and I found myself muttering doctor Watson's name in-between all of the vomiting. But the voice that echoed around the room belonged to the detective. I didn’t question his actions, but I appreciated them.

“You’re ok”

I managed to laugh despite my laboured breathing.

“I am a fucking weapon with a fucking self destruct button.”

His hand found my shoulder and I allowed myself to lean into his touch slightly.

“not anymore”

“promise?”

I sounded like a child but he squeezed my shoulder nonetheless. That was all I needed to feel safe. His gentle fingers traced patterns onto my shoulder absent-mindedly while I coughed and spluttered.

My whole body ached.

At some point the detective had let go of me and I had ended up slumped against the wall. I missed the feeling of those hands, brushing figure eights onto my shirt, gently coaxing me out of my haze.

“Everest?”

“mmm”

“I want to try something but I’d like your consent first.”

I stared at him, my heart racing.

“what?”

“I want to induce an episode and try to pull

you out of it.”

I swallowed.

“ok”

***

Sherlock’s movements were precise and vaguely clinical as he rolled up the hoodie sleeve to expose my wrist, pressing two fingers into the soft spot beneath my thumb.

“Try to relax”

I closed my eyes and began to take steady breaths. 

“House fire.”

***  
Hands gripped my shoulders ; strong yet gentle hands, Steady, unafraid hands. Counting, he was counting. Counting to four. Why four? Why count?

“Breathe Everest! Breathe with me ,come on.”

He was shaking me.

“There you are, come on breathe.”

Within minutes I was breathing normally and wad much more aware of my surroundings.

Sherlock was knelt beside me.

“How long was I out for?”

He smiled.

“half an hour, I administered an anti anxiety drug to slow your heartrate. “

I couldn’t find the right words to say, ‘thank you’ wouldn't suffice in this instance and so I just nodded, my face as open and genuine as I could make it.

He seemed to understand.

 

 


	9. 101 cups of tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is less than pleased with sherlock's treatment of Everest but gets more information than he bargained for when he confronts him.

“I remembered”

“what?”

“him”

“who?”

I wished that I'd been able to capture the doctor’s facial expression just then, in some other form than memory. The confusion melting so suddenly into realisation that I expected him to recoil. 

“Oh”

Was all he could manage. 

Then silence, so much awkward fucking silence. 

“right”

He breathed, clapping his hands together a little too enthusiastically. 

“tea?”

Ah yes John tea ; tea fixes all. The detective and I nodded slowly as we watched him haphazardly rearrange the kitchen-turned-lab. 

“he makes tea when he feels awkward.” 

“that must be why there’s never a short supply of the stuff” 

Sherlock snorted 

“it’s going to take at least another 30 seconds before he reaches the kettle and it seems you have something to ask me.”

I raised an eyebrow 

“have I?”

“20 seconds”

Trying to keep secrets around this man was almost painful. 

“15” 

“fuck you!”

“12” 

I fought an urge to pull the knife from the mantle piece and relocate it to the inside of the bastards skull. 

“ooh it’s about money”

“You couldn’t possibly kno-“

“5”

“fine! Yes it’s about money Sherlock.” 

“what about it?”

“I need-“

“I’ll talk to John and-“

“Stop interrupting me! No, I don’t need yours. I have some started at Marie's flat, could you get it for me?” 

“consider it done”

And with that the sound of the kettle boiling spilled from the kitchen into the front room. 

“Bit longer than 30 seconds detective.” 

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.   
***  
It’s easy to hide ones facial expression behind the rim of a teacup, or so I discovered. John held a “fifth Northumberland fusiliers” mug in front of as much of his face as humanly possible. Steam billowed from it, obscuring his pained expression just enough for it to morph into confusion instead. Or was he embarrassed? Probably embarrassed. 

His fingers tapped the arm rest slowly. 

“So uh”

He lowered the mug, exposing a tight frown. 

“what happened?”

I looked at Sherlock and apparently my expression screamed “help” because he took the liberty of answering for me. 

“I had theorised that the episodes were some sort of overcompensation for extreme emotions felt after hearing a trigger word. Like a panic attack or a seizure. This would mean that they could be lessened or stopped completely by administering an anti-anxiety drug. Unsurprisingly, I was correct.” 

The doctor looked pissed off. Mind you he always looked pissed off when Sherlock opened his mouth. 

“she’s not an experiment Sherlock”

Now it was my turn to be pissed of .

“SHE consented!” 

Both men seemed surprised to hear me speak, as if they had forgotten that I was in the room. 

“yes and SHE is also not in the correct frame of mind to be making such decisions right now!” 

Seeing the doctor angry felt so alien and wrong. Everything about the situation felt alien and wrong.

“You know absolutely nothing about me, and you’d be an idiot to make a judgement based solely on the last 24 hours!” 

“you’re suicidal!” 

My grip on the mug I was holding had tightened significantly and the beige liquid inside had begun to shimmer slightly between my shaking palms. 

“well I’m also a killing machine apparently so being suicidal might just be the best thing for me” 

I regretted the words almost instantly after they left my mouth ; as soon as John's expression softened, scanning the detectives features for some sort of explanation. And when none came I felt those warm eyes creep closer and closer to mine, seeking the reassurance that there had been a mistake or he had simply misheard. 

I wished that was the case. 

“does someone want to explain what the fuck is going on?” 

My confidence returned upon hearing how angry this statement had made him and I found myself speaking clearly for the first time in a few days. 

“A suicidal teenage girl is as about as unstable as it gets in terms of weaponry, you’d be stupid not to have a self destruct button .” 

“A what?”

“A code, a sequence of numbers like the one behind my ear. Only this one's for when Eddie can go longer handle me and needs a quick way of cleaning up his mess. A self destruct button if you will.”

John raised an eyebrow. 

“well it seems you’re the one pressing it at the moment.”

I knew that he’d meant the statement genuinely and that his intentions were good ; the anger that coated his words earlier was now undetectable and the statement was muttered instead of spat. But something about the way that the doctor had retorted so quickly floored me, angered me even.   
Sherlock picked up on this almost instantly. 

“John it seems Everest an I have finished out tea, could you put the kettle back on.”

He huffed but didn’t object and gathered our empty mugs before disappearing into the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?”

I snapped as soon as John was out of earshot. 

“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice”

I scoffed and got up from the sofa, wincing slightly as my body objected. I made my way to the window slowly and gazed at the street. 

“You’re not usually one to help the needy Sherlock.”

“Not when the average person is involved”

The suggestion that he thought of me as anything other than average made me smile and my stoic facade was suddenly shattered. Thank God I was facing the window. 

“And I’m not average?” 

“far from it”

“then what am I?”

Sherlock seemed to ponder the question for a second. This was something that ,until now, he never seemed to do. 

“You’re useful”

There was that word again. A mere bundle of letters that caused tears to cloud my vision so quickly that even Sherlock seemed stunned. 

“You’re upset?”

He seemed confused. 

“no I just...I don’t know sorry”

I'd buried my face between clammy palms without really thinking and was fighting to keep my composure. 

“I just hate that word.”

“useful?” 

A small nod was all I seemed to be capable of at that point in time without breaking down completely. I couldn't persuade my body to speak through fear that the sobs I had managed to choke down would surface as soon as I opened my mouth. To my surprise ,and indeed relief, the detective pressed the matter no further. So we just sat in silence for a while longer. And then tea, more tea. 

“we've run out of milk”

John announced after filling our mugs for the second time. 

“yes”

Was all Sherlock had to offer. 

“Sherlock it would be really nice if you at leased offered to go to the shop for once.”

The detective raised an eyebrow and was met with an exasperated sigh from the doctor. 

“I’m going to get more milk” 

When neither of us responded he simply shrugged and threw a jacket around his shoulders. He was just about to leave when Mrs Hudson poked her head through the door.

Something inside me perked up upon seeing the gentle old woman from downstairs and I found myself smiling at her ; an expressiom that seemed odd when worn on a face that was in no way used to smiling. She caught my eye and grinned before adressing the detective. 

“Your friend Greg is here, he says it’s about the case.” 

The detective’s brow furrowwed once again, this time in confusion. A rarety when it came to Sherlock Holmes, the man who knew it all. 

“who?”

“Greg”

The detective’s incredulous expression remained and he turned to John who seemed just as confused. 

“John?”

“Lestrade Sherlock!” 

“oh Gary”

The doctor rubbed his forehead.

“Greg!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

The detective shrugged. 

Lestrade looked to be in his forties though his silver hair suggested that he was older. He greeted Sherlock and John before introducing himseelf to me and offering a handshake. It was a small gesture but it involved me in whatever he had to say and I appreciate it more than I thought I should. He declined John's offer of yet more tea and opted to stand instead of sitting. Something about the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other made me uneasy and I felt my heart sink when he uttered the four scripted words that I had been dreading. 

“We’ve found a body.” 

There was no need for him to elaborate. 

“Hannah?”

I’d managed to keep my voice steady. Just. 

Lestrade nodded. 

Sherlock joined John at the door and held out a hand in my general direction. 

“where are we going?”

“to see a friend of mine.” 

“You have a friend?” 

I felt a pang of guilt at my own insensitivity toward the death of a young girl but sherlock’s smirk made it almost worthwile. 

I followed the man down the stairs and waved goodbye to Mrs Hudson. 

“so detective”

He turned to me, his face screwed up in an odd mix of amusement and disbelief. 

“who's this friend of yours?”

He smirked again. 

“Molly, Molly Hooper”


End file.
